“Hobble, a bobble, a gobble, a gloo!” were the only sounds that were heard in reply.
“Dis nebber boil in nassy dishcloth, you fellar!”
“Grow, a row, a row, ow, oo, oo, oo!”
“Like your ’bominable imprence, you fellar!”
“Rug, a rug, a glug.”
“Take debblis good care you nebber say no more sich diclus impossumbilties. Ha! him dead as herrin’ now,” observed the unrelenting negro; and then adding, “But serb him berry right—berry right, indeed—a fellar!” he shouldered his mop, and turned on his heel.
“Up with the anchor, and get out to sea as fast as you can,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry.
“If I might advise, sir,” said Hearty, respectfully, “I should recommend an unkimmon deal o’ care in steerin through these shallows. I paid ’ticular notice when we entered this here rascally neighbourhood. I’ve a notion them varmint never had sich a reglar spiflification since they commenced their murderin rigs—and I’m sartan sure the ship’ll be lost if we don’t look out pretty sharpish.”
“Well, what is best to be done?” asked Oriel. “You, of all of us, are best acquainted with these matters—what do you advise.”